[IV]

An hour ago

What did a man had to do, to get a drink at this hour at this day and age, I kept wondering as I passed by some small-time bar whose owner was a washed-up data-scoundrel named Dexter who'd back in the day used to run some jobs for a crime syndicate or two until one day he'd split and decided that he'd rather spend the rest of his days huddled up in some cold hole, which was named The Dexter's Hole, poisoning his and others' lives with equally cold booze.

He was a good chat, that is, whenever I'd decide to ever once in millennia.

I wandered where he could be, but then decided it was probably the rain.

Lots of shops were closed due to the recent rains, which on normal nights still wouldn't stop old Dexter from selling booze, the late-night alcohol peddling regulations be damned. No booze after 10pm.

Tell that to Dexter.

You cannot keep Dexter from peddling booze, not ever.

The man used to peddle synthetic body organs back in the day, for pity's sake.

Dexter was immune. Untouchable.

Regulations be damned, I surmised as I pulled the collars of my coat against the sudden gust of cold wind which blew through me like I was made of feather.

Shaking, I cursed Dexter and his closed-up bar under my breath.

The rain had no fault.

It was just trying to wash away the city.

A downpour.

A vain struggle.

Tell that to me.

Nothing new.

How lovely.

I arrived at my destination, after burning some shoe-rubbers, my soles had started to throb, and the revolver deep in my pocket wouldn't know how to stay still, and lolling this way and that as I quickly passed by insignificant, faceless and gray 10-story concrete buildings. Before me stood a three story building, an old garage from back in the day.

I didn't know what purpose it served nowadays, but anyway, that didn't matter. It was only four blocks away from my crumbling office, and the man I was looking for was named Jeremy, and the man I was looking for, who was named Jeremy, used to live here.

I knocked on the wooden door, and deftly delved in without waiting for any response, like any good old friend. Maybe I was hoping to catch him in some inappropriate situation.

It wouldn't be the first.

An eerie darkness then biting cold welcomed me, the place stank of disuse. Meaning, it stank like any good old home when you draw all the curtains and shut off any oxygen supply and leave the place for good.

Which was a good sign, Jeremy was probably around. I looked for the old basement entrance, next to the old corridor that was entered via the front door which was where I'd used to enter the building.

I tried flipping the switch but no light answered.

I cursed Jeremy for his neglect of electricity bills much unlike any good citizen as I almost slipped off the old stairs, the rising dust invading my eyes, mouth, ears, nostrils, any exposed orifice. I kept descending into darkness, the fact that I'd forgot my old, battery-powered flashlight back at the office kept ringing in my ears; as if my brain was so eager to remind me of my own idiocy. But then again, yeah, mistakes weren't a luxury in my job line. There were too many risks.

I found Jeremy huddled up on some old couch, which had dozens of empty beer bottles circling it as if for some kind of ritual, like those mushrooms. Moonlight seeped in through some small basement window.

There weren't anything else of note; it looked like an empty room.

If it weren't for the long years spent right in the middle of weird occurrences, I'd leg it out of there.

I never had the patience for drunks. Or weird things.

I lifted some beer bottle that was halfway dark meaning that it was halfway full, and poured it down Jeremy's face, which made him dart halfway upwards meaning that he was halfway awake.

"Wha-WHAT THE FUCK?!", Roared Jeremy like any good old friend does when they see another good old friend.

"It's your morning alarm, you'd set it today, remember?"

"HOW THE FUCK?! WHADDAYA MEAN?!"

By then Jeremy had gotten his own beer bottle, holding it by the point, he was ready to go thirteen rounds with an exceptionally drunk punk who'd dared disturb his beauty sleep.

I emptied the remains of my own bottle at him and flipped it at his feet. Jeremy slipped on it and fell on his behind with a thud; the beer bottle went flying off his hand and it looped through the air then it was gone until it broke somewhere.

Stepping over the beer puddle, I yanked his hair back, with his wet, and burning, red and blue eyes, slimy, greasy mousy brown hair, and disgusting rotten teeth exposed in some expression of painful grimace, he wasn't an exceptionally pretty sight.

I took the a4 still-frame out of some deep pocket and pointed it down on his nose. Then thought better of it and moved it a little further away from his little rat eyes.

Then thought better of it again and let go of his hair, grabbed him by his armpits and helped him onto his couch, his legs dragging and parting a sea of dust on the floor.

Taking some napkin out of my many pockets I threw it on his face.

A minute after he was swiping his eyes and snotty nose clean. And I decided to wipe my hands on a nearby armchair.

"Costello? Is that you?"

"What gave it away?"

"You son of a bitch! You couldn't just knock?"

I didn't answer.

"God, your coat stinks of cigarette, I'm already sobered up."

"Good. Get ready, I need you sober."

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"A son of a bitch, that's what you are Costello. I swear to god. A class A son of a bitch."

I kept my silence. I'd never known my mother, so I didn't know what she was.

Twenty minutes later he was all sobered up and ready.

"So what do I owe the pleasure of smelling your stink?", asked Jem.

"You remember Vex?"

"The banker chick? What about her?"

"Yeah.You remember what'd happened to her?"

"Yeah. Get to the point."

"Run your pretty eyes over this.", I said handing him the crumbled still frame.

"Is that who I th-"

"Yeah. What do you know about a certain Ms.White, Jem? Wears a business dress, a funny white hat with a blue feather sticked to it. Skin white as milk. Works for some corporation or the other, and somehow knows who I am and what work I do, huh?"

"I don't know any Ms. White, cut the shit."

"Take a good look at that pic, Jem. Take a real close look." I yanked dear old Jeremy's hair and crammed the paper on his face. His hair was greasy.

"That's a ghost you're seeing. Ghosts ought to keep warm and cozy down in their graves. Not go around robbing corporations for physical copies of files."

"What the shit, man. Let go of my hair, for god's sakes! Fine, I may have heard some things."

"Good, things are often good. Tell me.", I replied.

I let go of his mousy hair, a few strands were left behind.

"I heard things. About the Tech Junkies. That they were recruiting people. People with benefits. People with pull. Even the half ones. Re-attaching them somehow. These guys have serious tech and the knowledge to pull it off. If anything, they'd be your best bet."

"And? Ms. White?"

"Penelope Cyrus."

"That sounds made up. Are you making that up, Jem?"

"No. That's what's her name. A real stone cold bitch. She's a bounty hunter."

"A bounty hunter? At this day and age? And they call me archaic."

"For all the punks who think they can hack their way outta things. It was surprising enough when she'd care about these files, but seeing her." Jem pointed a bony finger at the paper. "It makes better sense, now."

"What do you mean?"

"Hmm.. You weren't followed, were you?"

"No, although I was aware of the risk."

"Can I trust you on this?"

"You can, Jem."

"Follow me."

"Sure thing."

Jeremy, got up, swayed a little, and getting a hold on his feet, started walking over to some cabled switch I hadn't noticed earlier. He flipped the switch, and for a split second or two nothing happened.

Then everything happened.

Some panels slid back into their holes without making any sound, the walls parted as if he'd just muttered open sesame, the ground caved in and I expected to see rooms full of gold or courtesans or better yet considering it was Jem, full of booze reminders of other rituals, placed in macabre shapes.

But instead, flickering, bright screens took the place of those panels, at least five of them, keyboards and open-ended jacks were suddenly everywhere.

Artificial light flooded into the room. My eyes which were more used to the darkness of my cozy office started watering.

He sat on some chair, which a moment ago weren't there. I crossed my arms, aware of the fact he'd left me standing on my two feet. I could still feel my soles throbbing. I switched the weight from one leg to the other.

He typed in her name. A few results picked up. Then pictures appeared. He clicked on one. One from an article about a new employee. A successful one.

"This is your beloved Vex. Before the tech insurrections. And this is your Vex, now."

He put on some glasses and glanced at the still frame for three seconds.

The same frame was then on the monitor.

"Suffice to say, I like her new style better."

Two different sets of giant eyes kept staring down at me. Two familiar eyes, yet different. The left one had brown eyes, full of hope, passion, and happiness. The one on the left had a soul. Her blond hair was resting on her small shoulder frame. She had on a brown business suit. Black glasses with thick frame. Her warm smile brought back distant memories, memories of sea, sunlight, warmth. I felt myself involuntarily smiling back at her.

Then my smile died as quick as it all had passed. Habit made me reach for a cigarette. I lit one.

The one on the black and white frame, had liquid-metal blue eyes. Almost white. Abnormal. Unnatural. No feelings could be observed. It looked devoid of soul. But I wasn't fooled.

I felt my stomach get tied in a knot.

"How could this have happened?"

"The Tech Junkies must've gotten to her."

"But why? She was just a manager, nothing big shot."

"I dunno. She obviously had an ace hold up somewhere. Maybe someone owed her? Or cared about her? Looking at her, it's not that hard to guess she must've had lovers all 'round, Mike." He threw a side glance at me. I tried not to flinch.

I tapped the cigarette on some empty beer bottle.

The ash crumpled, disappeared. Dissolved. As easy as that. I wondered if it had been that easy for her, too.

Somehow I doubted that. But I could never be sure.

"Maybe.", I said finally. "Maybe not, we won't know until we find her. But something's not clear."

"Yeah. They must've reconstructed her. Serious tech and the serious attitude to go with it."

"But how? I'd seen her, Jem. There.. There was not much left."

"Beats me."

"Such a help you've been, old Jem." We both knew Jem was holding precious info. I started to leave. What a helpful visit. A complete waste of time.

Not quite, but still.

"Mike."

"Yeah?"

"You know who Ms. White works for."

"Yeah."

"You know what she is."

"Yeah."

You know Vex's in trouble."

"Yeah."

There was silence.

"I can give you The Tech Junkies' address."

Silence again.

"Thank you, Jeremy."